The Degree of Separation
by singingstarryknights
Summary: The murder of Omen Suicide hit way closer than Danny Messer thought. Post Oedipus Hex.
1. Chapter 1

The Degree of Separation

…

The murder of Omen Suicide hit way closer than Danny Messer thought.

…

Post Oedipus Hex

…

Greg closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of sweet city air, letting the pungency of the diesel fumes and rotting garbage and cement and stale oxygen bring him back to his adolescence, when the world was a game, and he was batting a thousand. He loved New York, really. He loved the crisp bite of the autumn air on the eastern seaboard, the brisk breeze sweeping up off the Hudson. He hadn't always lived here, spending a considerable amount of his childhood in San Gabriel, California; but it was in this town that he learned how the world worked.

Opening his eyes, the looming presence of the precinct came into view. Archaic, yes, but well loved, as there were many criminals in the city; the building seemed to sigh from the traffic inside its walls. Greg smirked, trying not to think about just how many times he had trudged through the halls in this particular building, on the brink of losing everything he hadn't quite had the opportunity to achieve just yet. Fortunately, his brushes with NYPD Narcotics had been absolved in his younger years. How he managed to land a job in law enforcement, he'd never know. Greg cleared his throat, and pushed aside his hesitancy, quickening his step up the front stoop of the precinct adjacent to the crime lab.

Greg Sanders paused at the receptionist's desk, quietly inquiring where he could find Detective Messer, shaking off the memories of cold interrogation rooms and ultimately empty treats. The plain woman behind it didn't look up right away, but merely pointed at a vacant, but well-used desk in the corner of the large room.

"Out in the field. He'll be back." She drew her gaze away from the computer screen and eyed him cautiously before watching a petite brunette make her way briskly by them, frowning over what he recognized as CODIS results. "Momentarily, I assume. Detective Monroe is back." She rolled her eyes, and offered him a cordial smile. "His desk is the one farthest over, on the left. Make yourself at home if you'd like."

"Yeah? Thanks." Greg left the receptionist, and navigated his way through the two dozen or so pairs of detective's desks in the room. He stifled a smile, shaking off the feeling that he was in an episode of NYPD Blue.

Or that he was seventeen again.

He watched who he assumed was Det. Monroe start to walk by Danny's desk and stop, pausing to jot down a note on a Post It, and press it to the edge of his computer screen. She sighed as she swept her gaze over the disheveled contents of the desktop, biting her lip and running a hand through her hair as she continued on, down the hall beyond and out of sight.

She was pretty. Danny probably hadn't called her back.

He slouched into the chair beside the desk, sobering when he remembered why he was in New York to begin with. He was determined not to let this be awkward. They were friends; had been for years. It was a rare occurrence for him to be in New York; Greg hadn't been back to the east coast since the last time they were busted. It was ironic that both of them had ended up in law enforcement. Even more so that Danny had made his career here, of all places.

The last time he was in this building, he was arguing his way down from a twenty-five year sentence. That was back when he and Danny had a methadone lab running in the apartment they shared when Greg wasn't away at Stanford, and Danny wasn't out on the road with whatever team he was swinging the bat for. It had been a challenge then, life was one big science project. God, they had been such science nerds. At that point, well-paid science nerds. Meth was a lucrative business, especially in New York.

The franchise at Stanford didn't do too poorly either, he remembered, smiling tersely.

Fortunately, it had also forced them to straighten out, and fast. He'd like to think it was his adorable personality and charming demeanor that got the charges dropped. It was definitely Danny and that smile that always made women's clothes fall off. They were so lucky a brand new female detective, straight out of the academy, had interrogated them.

He looked up at the sound of a familiar voice, smiling nostalgically as he saw his dear old friend round the corner, his attention caught by the receptionist. He looked over, and grinned broadly, making his way to his desk.

"Greg Sanders." The smile on his face stretched to the timbre of his voice, and Greg couldn't help but smile back, standing to embrace his friend.

"Danny Messer. Long time no see."

"I know, huh?" He motioned for Greg to sit, and he did, amused as Danny paused, catching sight of the Post-It on his monitor.

"You forget to call her back, Dan?" The other man smiled wistfully, shaking his head before pocketing the note.

"Nah, it's complicated." Danny flopped into his chair, throwing Greg a genuine, broad grin. "What brings you to New York?"

"Death in the family, actually." Greg pulled a photograph from his coat pocket, handing it to his friend. Danny shot him a confused expression, and Greg watched as the recognition came hard across his features.

Omen Suicide. Carensa _Sanders_. Oh, he was all sorts of brands of idiot.

He frowned, resting his elbow on his desk, running his hand through his hair.

"Listen, Greg-"

"My aunt wouldn't stop running her mouth about a smartass detective. The more she talked, the more I figured it was you."

"I can't believe I didn't make the connection." Danny handed the photo back, groaning inwardly as the case he had just wrapped got that much more complicated. "I'm sorry about your cousin, Greg. Really." Danny leaned over on his elbows, the closest thing to sincere compassion that a lifetime in Staten Island would allow. Greg nodded, sweeping his gaze over his old friend, choosing his words carefully.

"My aunt Helen called me when Carensa picked up and moved out, shrieking about her moving to the east coast." Greg ran a hand tiredly through his hair, and slouched in his seat a bit, a trace of a smile flashing across his features. "I was working a triple homicide, which doesn't exactly lend itself to amicable family conversations." Greg took a shaky breath, and Danny leaned back in his chair, pushing his glasses up on his nose, listening intently to his friend. Greg scuffed his shoe against the floor absently, continuing. "I assured her New York was perfectly safe. That she would be fine. She only needed to find herself, you know, that angsty teenage soul searching 'my life has no meaning' thing."

"There's crime in every city, Greg, we both know that."

"My cousin turned a bit wild." Greg tried to smile, glancing at the scattered contents of Danny's desk distractedly.

"Kettles and pots, man. The Suicide Girls are out there, yeah, but you and me woulda put 'em to shame ten years ago." Danny grinned, remembering the burn of the kineticism that hummed through his muscles and joints a decade and more ago. The bleak traces of grief that hung wearily on Greg's features flittered, and the beginnings of a soft smirk curved his lip.

Danny paused, leaning forward. "Let's go get a cuppa coffee, huh? You look like shit." Danny smiled kindly at his friend, and Greg nodded, standing up.

"You can spare the time?"

"Yeah. I was supposed to be home hours ago. They owe me a break." Danny stood, reaching over and pulling his jacket off the back of his chair, gesturing towards the front of the precinct, motioning for Greg to lead the way to the door. They had almost made it past the receptionist's desk when the slender woman seated behind it caught sight of Danny, a momentary pause in the muted clicking of her fingers on the keyboard as she glanced up.

"Detective Flack is looking for you, Detective Messer." Her sight returned to the screen before her, but she smirked sympathetically at Danny's exasperated expression. "Said it was urgent."

"Did he say which case?" Greg fought a grin as he heard the irritation in his friend's timbre.

"The t-shirt one- something about another body."

"Dammit." Danny tore his frames from his features, pinching the bridge of his nose in a mix of frustration, the inevitability of having to stand up his longtime friend, and the fresh crime scene on a stale crime.

"You chasin' a serial?" There was the faintest hint of what could have been a Brooklyn accent years ago when Greg spoke, and Danny nodded, wearily, responding quietly.

"Been ugly. And the guy knows about Louie. Jus' one more thing, y'know?"

"Raincheck. Gimme a call when you catch a break." Greg shrugged, offering his friend a compassionate smile. "Believe me, I understand." With a gruff nod, both men parted ways in a professional manner, Danny disappearing back into the bowels of the precinct, Greg trotting down the front steps and out into the city streets.


	2. Chapter 2

Central Park, in the fall, had always been a safe place for Greg, and even now, years upon years removed from sitting on his favorite bench, he sat down again, and the feeling of coming home rushed through him. He smiled absently, putting the upcoming funeral and necessary obligations out of his mind. There really was nothing like New York in the September.

It was good to be back.

He glanced around and sighed, almost happily. Almost. When his aunt had called him, he had been driving to the lab, to start his shift. Instead, he drove to McCarran, and called Grissom to tell him there had been a sudden death in his family, not giving a timeframe for his return. Grissom had only wished him a safe flight, and told him not to worry. It was a good thing he never took time off. He wasn't completely sure how he felt, really… being on the other side of the crime tape on this one, and coming in after the fact, as well. Never mind that he wasn't completely ready to accept what had happened to his little cousin. He shifted uneasily between restlessness and a sort of apathetic detachment, both of which left him feeling guilty and grieving.

He supposed he should have told Sara, but she had gotten called in early, had already been at work for five hours before he had gotten in his truck. In his defense, they hadn't been together long enough for him to explain himself, but knowing her, she'd worry when he suddenly failed to show up at the lab after leaving him naked and asleep in her bed hours before.

As if on cue, his phone rang, singing its rendition of 'Pretty Woman,' signifying Sara on the other end.

"Sanders." Greg sighed into his phone as he slouched back into the bench he had loved so much as a child.

"Gris said you took a few days vacation. You okay?" He smiled at the familiar voice on the other end, and at her blatant concern.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Family stuff." There was no need to worry her.

"When will you be back?"

"Thursday? Yeah, should be back Thursday for shift." He smiled softly into the receiver. "I'll call you when I get in."

"Are you sure you're okay? Where _are_ you?"

"Ah, at the moment, Central Park."

"New York City?"

"That's where my cousin is." He cringed, taking a sharp breath, regaining composure quickly. "I'm fine, Sara. I'll be home in a couple of days. I'll keep my phone on, okay?" He glanced around, spotting his old friend walking towards him in the distance.

"Alright."

"It's only a few days, love."

"You could have told me before you got on a plane, Greg. I had to hear that from Grissom."

"Yeah sorry. It was kinda short notice." He waved, catching Danny's attention. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. I, I just- can we talk about it when I get home?"

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too. Have fun with the floater."

"Yeah, yeah. Bye." He smiled, flipping shut his phone, and stood to greet the other man with a brief hug.

"Thought I'd find you here." Danny Messer smiled wearily at his childhood friend, suddenly glad the other man had sought him out, even if the circumstances were tragic.

"Habit, I guess. Peace and quiet in a busy city." The two men sat down on the bench, and Greg regarded his friend with a concerned expression. "Tell me about my cousin."

"I can't talk about the case, man." He paused, momentarily distracted by the family of ducks trotting across the walkway. "What d'you want me to say?"

"Scientist to scientist. Hypothetically." Greg sat back, taking in Danny's tired, worn thin expression. He knew Danny's objection to disclosing case information was bureau protocol, and once they made it through what he was supposed to say, the detective who worked Carensa's case would give him a detailed account that he could then relate to his grieving, angry aunt.

"Found her in an alley. Sharp force trauma to the back of the skull. No shoes. fake blood- colored sugary syrup used by the Suicide Girls for an act they do at the club around the corner from the crime scene. Homage to _Carrie_." Danny turned his attention to his hands, and Greg frowned, taking in what Danny was telling him.

"I knew about the Suicide Girl gig."

"News to me. They're a special breed."

"What'd you find?" Danny cleared his throat, frowning as Greg's voice cracked with emotion.

"Distinct, blunt impressions on her skull- definitely COD. She'd been bludgeoned with the heel of a stiletto, repetitively. Four clear hits in the skull, one in the chest. Obliterated the second name in her chest piece, all we saw was 'Til death do us part, Omen and…someone.' We reconstructed it in the lab. We got a former ME on our team, he pulled her chest apart, then put the epidermis back together again. Name we were lookin' for was 'Al.'" Danny cleared his throat roughly, pushing the frames of his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. Tears that had welled up in Greg's eyes went unmentioned by both men, but unnoticed by neither. After a moment, Danny continued.

"Al is short for Alice. Alice Suicide is the stage name of your cousin's girlfriend. It's also short for Albert, the name of the guy that Carensa was rebounding with, and who she got to do the chest piece."

"That's the guy you charged with her murder."

"Yeah. He thought he was inkin' his own name. He got really mad when he realized he'd been played. Bludgeoned her with her own shoes from the skit."

"My aunt said you gave her some details, but not all of that."

"She didn't need all the science." Danny smirked softly, compassion scribed in his features. "She wasn't really receptive to what I had to say. About anything."

"She's a very emotive person." Greg ran a hand through his hair, making the unruly, wavy curls fall disheveled. "And you got the butt end of her stubborn streak. I'm really sorry, Dan. She's grieving, and she's in shock."

Danny nodded, dismissing Greg's apology. He knew what grief did to people. After a few minutes, Greg spoke again.

"C'mon, Detective, I could use a cup of the New York stuff." Danny smiled; relieved his childhood friend had taken the details of his cousin's murder somewhat more calm than his aunt, nearly a week ago. Greg Sanders pulled himself together with what his mother always referred to as his 'work face,' a set expression he usually only reserved for criminals whose crimes disgusted and enraged him, but the job required a an objective appearance.

Greg shivered slightly against the late autumn breeze, allowing himself to feel comforted, watching Danny stride confidently beside him, he was reassured that this cocky, determined detective that used to be his law breaking science geek cohort was the best man to lock up his cousin's killer. Greg was convinced Danny Messer rarely went home until there was justice. As a kid, he did everything and anything with a passionate intensity, and Greg easily saw how that had carried over into his adult life.

The determined manner in which his longtime friend hoofed the pavement of the crowded city sidewalk conveyed the headstrong demeanor that laid at least his own demons to rest. Maybe it just took another New Yorker to understand a guy like Danny Messer.

But then again, maybe it took a scientist to understand another science nerd.

"Funny, though, Dan. Of all the places to make a living, you pick the two-seven." There was a light, cautious teasing in Greg's tone, and Danny grinned.

"What can I say, I was inspired by the exceptional police work I witnessed there as a kid."

"I'm just surprised your rap sheet didn't follow you, even if you were cleverly disguised as a science geek." Greg shot his friend a smug smile, following the other man into a tiny, quiet diner, slipping into a booth. "At least, when I started in Vegas, I looked the part." Danny Messer snorted a laugh, nodding to the waitress that yes, they did want two coffees.

"Looks are decieving, Mr. Sanders."

"Nah. We were science geeks." Greg sat back, and grinned at his friend. Danny chuckled, and shook his head, remembering the years he spent living with Greg.

"You were the geek. I was a jock, man. It's the uniform that gets the girls."

"Yeah, not too many opportunities to get sweaty and dirty in a chem lab." Greg cracked a smile, making Danny laugh, relaxing when he saw that the kid he'd hung around with fifteen years ago was still present in the weathered, hardened man he'd become. At ease with a transition in conversation away from his own casefiles, Danny cocked an eyebrow.

"Speaking of getting the girl, how's whatsherface?" He thanked the waitress quietly as she set down two thick ceramic mugs before them, and a tiny metal pitcher of cream, listening to his companion.

"Sara? She's good. Pissed I hopped on a plane without telling her where I was going. She got called in early this morning on a floater." Greg smirked sadly, dropping a dollop of cream into his coffee, watching it swirl, the black seeping into the white.

"You guys getting serious?"

"Something like that. But it's not like here. Our director's an ass. We have to keep it quiet." He smiled at his friend, watching a group of kids hustle by the window. "Long ago, when we used to keep in touch, you said you're after some country girl. What happened with Cindy?"

"Yeah." Danny frowned, suddenly feeling a bit awkward talking about his new girlfriend with his old girlfriend's former neighbor. "Cindy saw it before I did. When we broke up, we had this huge fight, you know? And she just blew up at me, an' I guess I deserved it. No, I definitely deserved it."

"You cheat, Messer?"

"Never." Danny frowned, suddenly looking old. "She just, we just grew apart. I mean, we were together back when I was still swingin' the bat, you know? I guess." Danny sighed heavily, glancing at Greg apologetically. "We were always better at the off part of 'off and on' anyway. I guess I'm a different person now."

"I should hope so."

"Thanks for standing by me, man." Danny wrapped a hand around his mug, taking a slow sip of hot coffee, letting the swirls of steam warm his face for a moment.

"Like anyone coulda gotten you to the hospital faster." Greg grinned at his friend, pleased to see that Danny was still capable of taking a joke- and he began to feel a bit more at ease with the city of New York and his reason for making the journey back to the east coast.

He'd seen it all, he had, seen Danny at his best, and had seen Danny at his worst, driving him to the emergency room after the barroom brawl that ended his baseball career. They had been best friends for most of their lives, all of their childhood, and now, thousands of miles apart, they still relied on each other in those times that tough New Yorker guys don't like to think about.

Moments of weakness such as these.

"Hey- if you got the time, I'm sure Momma'd love to see you before you head back to Vegas." Danny ran a finger over the brim of his mug, offering a truce to Greg. He had screwed up with Helen Sanders, and he couldn't fix the pain and heart ache he might have caused, but he could at least try to bring a bit of joy to his grieving friend in its place.

"She still do dinner on Sundays?"

"Oh yeah."

"Count me in, Messer."


End file.
